


Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows

by ghostofgatsby



Series: I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd live for you. [7]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Drinking, Fae & Fairies, Fae manipulation, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Knives, M/M, Magic, Multi, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They kiss for what seems like an endless amount of time, grinding with the beat of the music. The man’s lips are tempting, and every moan that spills from them is music to Sips’ ears.<br/>Sips leans their foreheads together when the kiss breaks, and stares back into darkened green eyes.<br/>“How would <em>you</em> like to be king for the night?” The young man whispers hot against his ear.<br/>Sips pulls his head back and raises an eyebrow. “King for the night? Better be some damn good servitude,” he says smoothly.<br/>“Oh, trust me-” The man winks, his eyes shining in the neon above. “There will be.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't a lot of stories, currently, as to how Sips became king. Mine's been sitting around unwritten since I started writing the series, but at last it's done. I'm excited to see what you think ^^.
> 
> cw: fae manipulation, drinking, knives, blood, blood drinking, mentions of scars and death/murder. also, Trott cuts Sips’ palm in the ritual. I wasn’t quite sure what to tag that as, but that’s in there too.  
> If I need to tag anything else, let me know.
> 
> Many thanks to Three, Nate, and Leon for betaing ^^.
> 
> reblog: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/05/27/misery-acquaints-a-man-with-strange-bedfellows-ghostofgatsby
> 
> specific songs:  
> Only Human- Cold Showers  
> Cover Me In Gold- Sleep Machine  
> Up 2 U- Walk The Moon  
> Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time- Panic! At The Disco
> 
> the weight of being king, a playlist for the neon lights, dirty deeds, and paper crowns:  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/ghostofgatsby/playlist/7vRuqxOdYu69KZFvyuYIrn
> 
> full tracklist here:  
> https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/05/27/the-weight-of-being-king-playlist

"Come on, old man, it's the biggest party of the year!"

Sips wipes his fingers on his grease-stained track pants and shakes his head. "I'm not going, Turps, I told you before." He reaches for his drink to wash down the nacho cheese stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Turps groans theatrically. “Sips, you can’t spend New Years alone. Come on, let’s get our party on! Ring in the new year in _style!_ ”

The bowling alley is busy tonight. Pins crash down the end of the lane, and people young and old are cheering and laughing.

Sips just feels bitter. “I’m not as young as you, Turps,” he replies, swirling the ice in his drink.

“And you’re not _that_ old, as much as I tease you about it. You should be living it up, not wallowing in your empty mansion.”

Sips drinks his Mountain Dew.

Turps sighs and leans towards him across the tiny table. The white parts on his bowling shirt glow in the dark. “Humor me, alright? I promise you’ll have a good time.” He grins.

Sips narrows his eyes, crunching ice between his teeth. “Last time you said that I was hungover to high hell.”

“But it was _fun_.” Turps waggles his eyebrows.

Sips rolls his eyes. It _had_ been fun...until he woke up the next morning feeling like he took a brick to the face. ”I’m not going to another party just to get trashed again,” he warns.

“So don’t get trashed, it’ll be fine. Come on, you poor bastard. You’re tellin’ me you’re going to enjoy sittin’ alone all night, with a case of beer and shitty tv for company?”

Sips sighs. There isn’t a way around it- Turps will insist until he gives in. “Alright, _fine-_ ” He relents. “-but this party better be fuckin’ good, Turps. If it’s garbage, we’re leaving and doing something else for the night. ‘Best New Year's Bash’ in the city or not.”

Turps claps him on the shoulder and stands up. “That’s the ticket! It’ll be fucking _legendary_ , Sips. Don’t you worry.” He grins.

Sips shakes his head. “Whatever. We on again, or what?” He nods towards the lane and taps the heel of his bowling shoes on the linoleum floor.

“You bet!” the genie chirps. “I’ll go easy on you this time, after I did the magnificent job of knocking down all those pins.”

“ _I_ won the last game, you big dummy,” Sips replies with a smile.

“Shhh, you didn’t see anything...” Turps grins. He turns his back to Sips to clear the scoreboard, and loads another game up on the bowling alley computers.

 

* * *

 

Sips hunches his shoulders against the cold and darts into the building after Turps. He walks down a short flight of stairs, and into an old gymnasium. Streamers, balloons, and disco lights are hanging from the rafters. Little blue leds are strung along the walls. There are aquarium pillars around the room, a circular bar in the center, and risers leading up to a balcony in the back.

“This looks like 80s prom hell!” Sips shouts over Cher’s crooning about lost love. The DJ is set up to the right of the gymnasium, but people are dancing in a cloud of bodies centered at the bar.

Turps cackles and slaps him on the back. “Told you you’d love it! Let’s get some drinks!”

Sips follows him through the crowd, shaking his head at Turps’ crazy attire. The genie’s wearing a fuschia hawaiian shirt patterned with parrots, and a matching bucket hat. It was so bright it made Sips’ eyes hurt.

Sips didn’t dress up to meet the theme (which was "Under the Sea", he guessed from the sparkly ocean decor everywhere). He adjusts the New York Yankees baseball cap on his head and sighs as they sidle up to the bar and order drinks.

Past the crowd and along the edges of the room, there are loads of arcade machines and game tables set up. He’s itching for some pinball, but the crowds are thick. Fuck that noise.

Turps hands him his drink and claps him on the shoulder. “I _believe_...there’s a karaoke machine beckoning me,” he says with a wink.

“Oh sure, just go ahead and ditch me. Fuck, I see how you are,” Sips scoffs playfully. He downs a gulp of his drink.

“I know you _love_ my singing voice, Sips. The most heavenly of angels simply can’t compare-”

“I told you, ‘I wish you’d never sing around me ever again.’”

“And hey, I get it-” Turps continues talking as if Sips had never interrupted. “You’re not a karaoke person, I know. But I’ll go woo some people with my fantastic voice-”

“Your voice is worse than a banshee’s, Turps-”

“-And when I’m done singing, I’ll get you a spot on those pinball machines. Sound fair?”

Sips sighs. “Yeah, alright. Get me the best one, you hear? Not one of those cheaper newer ones- a classic.” He gives Turps a look. For all of the genie’s silly charm and sincerity, he could be a pain in the ass sometimes. Sips almost wished they never met, so he wouldn’t have to deal with Turps dragging him to these parties, and then fucking off to go sing bad karaoke. At least he got free drinks out of it...

“Hey, you got it, man. Only the best pinball machine for the wiz kid himself!” Turps fires finger guns at Sips and starts walking away, drink in hand.

"Try not to get murdered, eh?" Sips calls after Turps. “Don’t start an angry mob again by singing too many crappy Disney songs.”

Turps laughs. He digs in the pocket of his jeans for a moment and flips Sips a gold coin.

Sips catches it, and hefts it in his palm. It’s a little bigger than a quarter, with the same amount of weight to it. It looks like it's from Mardi Gras. He rubs his thumb across the metal to feel the pattern. There’s a crown on one side, and a star on the other.

“You know, I should tell you the same thing...” Turps says with a strange little grin. He gives Sips a wave and continues on. “ _Catch ya later, old man!"_

Sips rolls his eyes with an amused smile. He shoves the coin in his pocket next to his wallet, and watches the crowd dance. They look much younger than him. Girls in sparkly dresses and guys in cutoff tees and tight jeans. A vibrant mix of weird hairstyles, tattoos, and piercings.

It makes Sips think of his old friends from a decade ago. Driving around the city blasting music from the stereo. Going to parties and clubs and dancing while drunk. Laughing underneath neon lights...

But Xephos didn’t talk to him anymore, hadn’t in a long time. And-

Well.

It wouldn’t do to ruminate on the past tonight, New Years or not.

Sips sighs heavily. He stares up at the ceiling, at the lights that make it look like he’s under the ocean. Something shifts in the shadows of the rafters, but he blinks, and whatever it was is gone. Probably just a stray balloon knocking around. He looks back down and pushes away from the bar.

Drink in hand, Sips wanders the edge of the room. The pinball machines are still preoccupied, and he guesses Turps must be, too. The genie isn’t anywhere in sight. A few songs have played, some that Sips recognized and some that he didn’t. When he’s made a loop of the room, he leans back against one of the aquarium pillars bolted to the floor, and sips his drink.

The tropical fish in the aquarium swim around and around. They dart through coral and kelp, and cause streams of bubbles in their wake. Sips wonders why the fish aren’t bothered by all this noise. The thundering crowd and heavy baseline of the music reverberates through the soles of his high-tops. But the black, beady eyes of the copperband butterflyfish and moorish idols don’t pay him any mind.

Sips mock-toasts his glass to the fish and finishes off his drink.

Fingertips brush across his waist. The hand attached to them traces the hem of Sips’ shirt.

He turns.

In front of him stands a young man with messy auburn hair and vivid green eyes. Under the flash of lurid neon lights, he looks undeniably like sex on legs.

The young man gives him a mischievous grin that makes Sips' heart ache.

"Hey," the man greets over the music. "Wanna dance?"

Sips blinks for a second, eyes darting to his left and right. But the young man’s speaking to _him_ , for some reason.

Well.

It's obvious, the way he's looking at him, what he wants- the man’s drowning in sex appeal.

His hand is still on the hem of Sips’ shirt. The young man’s grinning so brightly, Sips wonders what demon he sold his soul to for perfect teeth.

Dancing with him practically screams bad idea. The man before him is the kind of person who breaks hearts, and that thought sends chills down Sips’ spine.

He’s tired of that scheme.

But Sips always had a heart for a bad boy with a golden smile.

 _Fuck it._ He thinks, leaving his glass behind on the aquarium ledge.

“Sure, why the hell not?” Sips follows the man into the crowd.

They press close together as they dance. The young man’s touch is electric where his fingers lay upon Sips’ hips.

“You dance really well for an old guy,” he teases with his tongue between his teeth.

“Hey, who you callin’ old, punk? You don’t see me carrying a cane,” Sips snaps back, amused.

“ _Yet_.”

“Fuck off.” Sips laughs. “You’re the one dancing with me, candy pants. I’m not too old for you, or you wouldn’t have picked me.” He hooks his fingers in the young man’s belt loops and tugs him closer.

The man tosses his head back with a raucous laugh, and grins. His arms move to Sips’ shoulders.

“I don’t hear any complaints, mate.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“You just can’t hear me complaining over the music,” Sips says loudly in his ear.

“ _What?_ ” He mocks.

Sips grins and shakes his head.

The young man curls his fingers in the collar of Sips’ shirt. His body gyrates against Sips in the midst of the crowd, and he presses closer still. Chest to chest, he can feel their body heat under their clothes.

They’re roughly the same height. The man stares into Sips’ eyes, with a grin ever-present on his face. The black shirt and jeans he’s wearing make him look long-legged and stretched out.

Sips kind of wants to see him stretched out somewhere else. Preferably on his bed back home.

From the look in the young man’s green eyes, he might be thinking the same thing.

Sips’ grip tightens on the man’s belt loops. He winks.

The young man laughs again. He closes the gap between them and kisses Sips full of passion and fever.

Sips splays one hand in the middle of the man’s back, keeping the other on his hip as they grind. He really hasn’t done this in a while, but he’s not out of practice, either. The scratch of the other man’s stubble on his is a new feeling, though.

It’s not entirely unpleasant.

Sips kisses him harder.

The young man moans into his mouth, and Sips break the kiss to laugh.

“You’re a really good kisser,” the man murmurs above the music. His eyes have taken on a darker sheen in the disco lights.

Sips smirks. “Comes with the experience.”

“Oh yeah? I got a ticket to ride.” His hands slide down Sips’ chest, and slip around into the back pockets of his jeans. “You up for a challenge?” He grins.

Sips grins back and raises his eyebrows. “You think I can’t handle you?”

“You can use your hands all you like.”

“Hands only?” Sips asks, pecking a teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Because there’s more to me than that, if you can take it.” He reaches up and traces one of the spurs on the front pocket of the man’s shirt, accidentally-on-purpose brushing a nipple under the fabric.

“ _Fuck, yes,_ ” the young man breathes, and kisses Sips again.

They kiss for what seems like an endless amount of time, grinding with the beat of the music. They’re pressed close, but not close enough. The man’s lips are tempting, and every moan that spills from them is music to Sips’ ears.

When the kiss breaks, he’s left breathless and panting. He leans their foreheads together and stares back into darkened green eyes.

“How would _you_ like to be king for the night?” The young man whispers hot against his ear.

Sips pulls his head back and raises an eyebrow. “King for the night? Better be some damn good servitude,” he says smoothly.

“Oh, trust me-” The man winks, his eyes shining in the neon above. “There will be.”

Sips smirks.

“What's your name?” The young man tosses over his shoulder, taking Sips' hand and leading him through the crowd.

“Sips. What's yours?”

“Call me Smith.”

The crowd parts to let them through to the other side of the room, and up the risers to the little balcony above. There’s a veil of color-changing flowers on the wall, somewhat like ivy. It flows as if it’s underwater.

Smith pushes the ivy-like plants aside and leads Sips through to the room hidden behind it.

In contrast with the gymnasium, the back room looks like the inside of some pearlescent shell. The couches and chairs are clad in ivory white leather, and the lights in the walls glow in muted blues and greens. There’s a bar at the back of the room with fancy Moroccan-styled tiling, and a man standing at it with his back turned to the doorway.

The man at the bar is shorter and thinner than Smith, with neatly cropped short brown hair. He’s wearing a silver silk shirt that looks like liquid metal in the lighting.

“Oi, Scrottimus! Found our king-to-be,” Smith loudly greets the other man in the room.

The man turns from the bar and scrutinizes Sips with a raised eyebrow. A brief flash of confusion crosses his bright blue eyes, but it’s quickly smoothed over by curiosity.

Sips knows he sticks out like a sore thumb- he’s a middle aged guy in a baseball shirt. He’s decidedly out of place amongst the younger crowd at this party, but the other man doesn’t seem too bothered.

“Hm...alright,” the other man says to Smith.

Smith mutters a ‘fuck, yes’ and fist pumps. He walks over to the bar, nudges the other man aside with his hip, and digs through the cabinet in search of something.

“Come for the throwback night?” the brunette asks Sips as he stirs his drink with a stick.

“Came for the music, stayed for the promise of free alcohol,” Sips replies with ease. He’s parched, after all that dancing.

The other man laughs. "Isn't that always the rule?”

“Yeah. I like how you think." He smirks.

The other man briefly smiles back at Sips, and turns to look over his shoulder. “Have you offered our king a drink, Smith?” he asks. He sets his drink down for a moment and scoops ice into another glass tumbler on the counter.

“Well he's not king just yet, is he, Trotty?” Smith answers through gritted teeth. He slams the liquor cabinet door shut and walks over to the couch, looking behind the pillows instead.

“Have you seen Ross?” ‘Trotty’ asks, picking up his drink again and watching Smith start flipping cushions.

“Nope!” Smith looks behind the couch and then fumbles down onto his knees to look under it. “Where the fuck is that crown?” he growls under his breath. “Trott, have you seen it?”

“ _Don’t tell me you lost it_ -” Trott warns darkly, “Or maybe I’ll make you stay on your knees all night, instead of dance your ass off.”

“Oh, _fuck off_ ,” Smith snaps back, but there isn’t any heat to the words. He sighs and stands up. “I’ll check the car.” He starts towards the doorway where Sips is standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Find _Ross_ while you’re at it.” Trott continues stirring his drink. “He’s probably up in the rafters or some shit.”

Smith makes a squawk of indignation and gestures to Sips.

Trott levels his gaze at Smith.

“ _Trott_ -” Smith whines.

“Aw, just get on with it, Smiffy.” Sips interrupts him. “Besides, he’s got the drinks.” He points at Trott, and the other man laughs again.

“You heard our king, Smith. Hop to it.”

Smith grinds his teeth together. “You’re going to hop on my dick, more like it,” he growls under his breath. “Just you fucking wait.”

Trott turns back to the bar and adds a slice of lime to his drink.

Smith strides past Sips on his way out the door. “Don’t go anywhere,” he tells him, winking cheekily.

“Not planning on it.”

The room lapses into silence again.

Sips leisurely strolls up to the bar. “So. Your name’s Trott?” he asks, surreptitiously checking the other man out. He has about as much sex appeal as Smith does. Damn.

“It is indeed,” Trott answers. “And yours is?”

“Sips.” He extends his hand, and Trott shakes it.

“Pleasure.” Trott smiles. He gestures to the bar with his drink in hand. “What can I get you, Sips?”

Sips smiles back. “A rye and ginger, if you know it.”

Trott sets his glass down again and starts to prepare Sips’ drink of choice. “Not from around here, are you?”

“The accent give it away, eh?” Sips asks with a mock wince. He leans his hip against the counter and traces the gold filigree in the tile. Expensive countertop for a simple bar cabinet in a club.

Trott shakes his head and grins, pouring whiskey into the glass of ice. “Around here we call this drink a Horse’s Neck.”

Sips shrugs. “Better than the horse’s dick.”

Trott laughs, and nods towards the couch. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable, Sips. The night is young.”

Sips turns and walks over to the couch, picking up one of the pillows Smith threw on the floor as he does. He sticks the pillow in the corner and takes a seat.

“Have you been enjoying the party so far?” Trott asks. His lanky arms move to make Sips’ drink.

Sips settles back into the couch and adjusts the baseball cap on his head. “It’s been good,” he answers honestly. “Not used to so much dancing, though.”

“Smith loves to dance. He’d dance all night if I let him.” The ginger ale fizzes as Trott pours it into the glass.

“If you let him?”

Trott smirks. “Much more interesting things to do with your night other than dance.”

Sips laughs. “Very true, Trott. Very true.”

The air in the room is pleasantly cool. The chill takes the heat off of Sips’ skin, and he takes respite in it after the semi-sweaty grinding he’d been doing with Smith.

“Did you plan this party, or are you and Smith just VIP guests?” Sips questions.

“Planned it. _You’re_ our guest of honor tonight, mate.” Trott stirs the ice in the glass.

“The royal VIP treatment, huh?”

“Something like that.” Trott pulls open a drawer in the cabinet and roots around until he finds a paring knife.

“Did you pick the theme?”

“I did...”

Sips catches the wariness in Trott’s voice, but presses gently. “Any particular reason why? You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who’s a fan of _The Little Mermaid_.”

Trott chuckles, and the bitterness in the sound is something Sips is familiar with himself. “Life’s a fuckin’ beach, innit,” he answers, throwing him a tight-lipped smile.

“I’ll drink to that,” Sips agrees. _Regret always leaves a sour taste in your mouth._

Trott says nothing. He picks up a lemon from a basket of fruit on the counter, and inspects it.

“What makes me so fuckin’ special tonight?” Sips asks thoughtfully. “Not that I’m complaining if it gets me free drinks. I’m just curious.”

“I don’t know.” Trott hums. “Picking the best king-to-be is Smith’s expertise.”

“Grinding ass seems to be his expertise, too.”

Trott laughs again. “Smith’s an expert ass, that’s for certain.”

Sips smiles back. Trott’s pretty damn attractive when he’s genuinely smiling.

It’s at that moment that Smith saunters back through the ivy curtain. “What about me? Always gossipin’, aren’t you Trotty? _Fucking full of it,_ ” he says through his teeth.

“Speaking of the ass himself,” Trott snickers under his breath. “Did you find the crown, sunshine?” He looks over at Smith as he peels rind from a lemon.

Smith lifts it up. “Glove box.”

Sips doesn’t pay much attention to the crown in Smith’s hand, because behind Smith must be Ross. The third man immediately makes eye contact with Sips when he walks in. His hair is black, his eyes are a deep, dark blue, and he’s equally as attractive as the other two. He’s wearing dark jeans and an unzipped blue hoodie.

"What've you been up to Ross? Off causing me grief?" asks Trott.

Ross licks his lips and smiles. "I set up the disco ball for the countdown. All the confetti's rigged to fall at midnight."

Trott smiles back. "Nicely done. Learn anything interesting from the view?"

"Not really. Good view." Ross rocks on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets. He glances between Trott and Sips in curiosity. “There was an asshole at the karaoke machine who sounded like a dying cat, though.”

Sips snorts. “That’s karaoke- no one can sing worth shit,” he adds in. “But if someone’s drunk enough it doesn’t make a difference.”

Ross smirks. “I take it you’re not a fan of karaoke either?”

“Nope. Disco balls, though- _fantastic_.”

“If you want a performance, Sips, I’ll give you one.” Smith spins the crown around on his fingers until Trott shoots him a disapproving glare.

“Yeah, and what’ll you sing, Smith?” Ross grins. “Waterfalls, by TLC?”

“Fuck off, Ross.” Smith flips him off.

Ross laughs.

There's a childlike innocence in his eyes. His smile, however, is a little too devious to be completely innocent. Not that children were ever as innocent as they seemed, and not that Ross looked anything like a child.

Sips knows he shouldn't be staring so blatantly. But there’s something different about Ross, maybe in the paleness of his skin and the lines of his shoulders under his white t-shirt. He has an aesthetic beauty to him that the others don’t have.

 _What the fuck is in the water here, shit...are all twenty-somethings this attractive?_ Sips thinks. _And why the hell are they picking_ me _out of the crowd to fuck?_

Sips jumps at the feeling of cold glass on the back of his hand. He snaps himself out of his staring, and turns his head.

“Here.” Trott hands out his drink.

Sips takes it. “Thanks.” There’s a spiral of lemon rind floating atop the ice of his rye and ginger.

“Let's get this show on the road!” Smith calls, fiddling with the crown in his hands. On closer inspection, it’s made of paper. It’s folded like origami, and painted a tacky gold.

Smith walks up to him, grinning brightly. His eyes shine like oil in water, the green sicklier o’er with a fierce darkness that can’t be pinned on arousal alone. And for a moment Sips wonders what he’s getting into.

Smith lifts the hat off his head and tosses it aside.

“I want that back, later,” Sips warns.

“Of course.”

Sips ducks his head a tad as Smith places the paper crown upon it.

The room darkens momentarily. He hears the chiming of bells in a blanket of silence.

Smith grins and whispers something Sips can't understand.

The entire moment lasts only a second or two, and then the beat of the bass from downstairs lurches back in.

“There you are. _My liege,_ ” Smith murmurs, eyes shining. He leans down and captures Sips’ lips in a slow kiss.

Sips lets Smith pull him up off the couch, carefully keeping ahold of his drink so he doesn’t spill it. One of Smith’s hands is on Sips’ shoulder. The other strokes down his chest and hooks into the front of his belt.

Trott clears his throat.

Smith whines, breaking the kiss and glaring daggers at Trott.

Ross smirks off to the side.

“Don’t want to rush, do we sunshine?” Trott asks, slowly taking a sip of his drink.

Smith and Trott exchange a momentary look.

Sips watches with barely contained mirth. The dynamic between Smith and Trott is interesting to say the least.

After a second or two, Smith sighs and takes his hand off Sips’ pants. He moves backwards towards the doorway with a grin.

“Time to celebrate, m’lord. Ring in the new year right!” Smith winks.

Sips meets Ross’ eyes next, and the dark haired man bows pretentiously. “After you, m’lord.” Ross moves aside and waves Sips forward.

Sips laughs.

“How’s the whiskey?” Trott asks next to him, clinking his drink against Sips’. The glass rings like the bells he heard earlier. Maybe that was what the sound was.

“I don’t know, I haven’t tried it yet,” he answers.

The trio of young men patiently watch Sips as he raises the glass and takes a drink.

“How is it?” Trott asks again.

Sips licks his lips. “ _Shit_ , that’s good. Better than the drink I had downstairs.”

The trio laugh.

“You didn’t ask the right people,” Ross replies. “It’s a good thing we’ve got the best liquor in the house.”

Sips hums at that, and the second swallow goes down smoother than the first.

“Satisfied, then?” Trott asks the third time.

“Yeah.” Sips nods appreciatively. The ice rattles in his drink. “Yeah, it’s good.”

Trott smiles this slow, seductive, dark little smirk. Something sharp is sparkling in the corners of his eyes. “ _Good_ ,” he murmurs. He gestures forward towards the doorway with the hand that holds his own drink. “The party awaits you, _m’lord_.”

 

“Welcome, welcome, _king of misrule_ ,” Smith croons, guiding Sips forward to the balcony railing.

“It’s a New Year's party, just for you,” says Ross from Smith's left.

“You’re the king of the night, and _this_ is your garbage court-” Trott makes a sweeping gesture across the room of dancing people. “The trashiest, most electrifying party this side of the city.”

“All of this is yours, and the night is young.” Smith leans back on the railing, facing Sips and smiling salaciously. “What’s your first decree, m’ lord?”

Sips shakes his head at their theatrics and laughs, watching the people- his people?- dance beneath them. The lights pulse in time with the music, colors changing with every thump of the bass. The music has changed to a more techno vibe than it first had when he walked in. The party is packed with people from wall to wall, and Sips wonders how big this New Year’s party is. And here he stands, with the best view in the house.

“Well, Smiffy...” Sips drawls with a wry smirk. “My glass appears to be empty.”

Ross and Trott laugh.

Smith frowns. “Oh, come on- a drink? _That’s_ your first royal decree?”

“Yeah, it is. The king decrees...to get him another drink,” Sips says, handing Smith the glass that had emptied quicker than he thought it would. “Margerita this time. Since you boys apparently know the right kind of people.”

“Well, coming right up, m’lord,” Smith says with a smirk. He plucks the glass from Sips’ hand and thunders loudly down the risers towards the bar.

Sips, Trott, and Ross watch him go, following the movement of Smith’s legs as he disappears into the crowd.

When Sips looks up again, he meets Trott’s eyes.

Trott smirks. ”Amazing what a nice pair of jeans can do.”

“Smith always looks fucking stunner in your jeans, Trott,” Ross adds in from Trott’s other side.

Sips grins. “I was more preoccupied with the man, instead of the jeans. He yours, too?”

Trott laughs, but his eyes narrow through his smile. “Observant, aren’t you?” He takes a drink from his own glass, still three fourths full. “I wouldn’t let Smith hear that comment. Wild one, he is.”

Sips hums and leans up against the railing. “He’s definitely the type.”

“Your type?” Trott raises an eyebrow.

Sips hides his heartache with a smile. “Maybe.” He looks away and searches the crowd for auburn hair. Smith was pretty to look at, and Trott and Ross, too, were gorgeous as hell. Sips tells them so.

Trott smirks. “Well, I’m flattered you think that. You’re not bad yourself.”

“Oh _, please,_ ” Sips scoffs. He’s nowhere close to being as young and attractive as them. Which is fine- he’s not bad, for his age, but he finds it weird that they’re as interested in him as he is in them.

“Please, what?” Trott asks teasingly. His voice is closer, and Sips turns his head.

Trott is leaning up against the banister like Smith was earlier, with one ankle crossed over the other. Under the lights, his silver shirt ripples like water. Sips can imagine taking it off of him; can imagine feeling the fabric under his hands.

“Entertain me, Trott,” Sips commands. He smiles and pushes back the paper crown on his head. He’s almost, but not quite, forgetting it’s there. He would rather wear his baseball cap.

Trott chuckles quietly. “That can be arranged.”

Ross smiles in amusement. “We’re here to entertain you, and there’s plenty of fun to have.” He licks his lips.

Something shifts outside of Sips’ vision, but when he looks in the direction of the movement, he doesn’t see anything. It could be the crowd, or the lights, or the alcohol. Though he’s only had a few drinks...

He’s about to ask if Ross left his hat in the lounge when Trott speaks up.

“You know, Sips, any song you’d like to request, we can play. Anything you want, we can provide.”

“Tonight’s your night, m’lord,” Ross says with a smile.

“Is that so?”

“The king wants...what the king wants. And what the king wants, he gets.” Trott gives him a sultry look.

Sips raises an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“And if I said I wanted you to order me a deep dish pizza?”

Trott smiles. “We could have it done.”

Ross lets out a hungry moan. “Mmm, _pizza_. Pizza’s delicious, especially with all the different toppings you can have on it.”

Sips grins. “Exactly, Ross.” He swings an arm across Ross’ shoulders and ruffles his hair. “I know I’m starving for some delicious three-meat deep dish.” Sips’ fingertips brush something strange in Ross’ hair, but then the dark haired man ducks his head away.

“Not the only deep three meat you’re getting tonight, _ooh!_ ” Smith says through his teeth, appearing out of thin air and handing Sips his drink.

“Ahhh, _fantastic_.” Sips takes the bright green margarita from Smith’s hand. “This lemon lime?” He turns the drink in his grasp, inspecting the glass lined with salt and a wedge of lemon.

“Hell yeah it is.”

“Mm, that’s good...” Sips hums as he takes a sip, and smacks his lips from the tangy flavor. “You know me well already, Smiffy.”

Smith grins.

Trott pulls out a cell phone from his jeans, flipping it open and quickly dialing a number. “So, Sips,” he asks, holding the phone up to his ear and smiling. “What else do you like on your pizza?”

 

* * *

 

Sips dances with all three of them in the midst of the crowd.

All around them, people cheer and scream and laugh. They chant and sing songs at the top of their lungs. Drinks in hand. Hands in the air.

Glittery plastic beads are draped around their necks like rosaries. They are but young wildlings who pray to the gods of debauchery for their freedom.

And the three that Sips is with might as well be- though they weren't gods, far from it. Not the way they speak.

Sips can't pin down what it is about this whole shebang. The people in the crowd look like distorted, shadowy figures, bathed in neon. But the only eyes he has are for the three of them.

They dance, they drink, they eat pizza. They talk and laugh about nonsense and watch the crowd move to the beat.

The four of them seem to click together, despite Sips being the outsider of their group. There’s a weird enmeshment of the three, of their humor and their personalities, each distinct but alike.

_All of this is yours. All of this is for you._

The words echo in his head so often, Sips’ doesn’t refute it.

King, sure. He’ll take it. But _him_ , actual royalty? Couldn’t be farther from the truth.

 

* * *

 

The hours blur.

He’s dizzy and breathless from laughing. He hasn't felt like this in a long, long time.

“ _Shit_...what time is it?” Sips asks giddily. The four of them are sitting on the couches in the VIP area. He isn’t sure why he asks. He weirdly feels like there’s somewhere he has to be, but that isn’t true. Tomorrow’s Saturday. He doesn’t work on weekends...

Smith flips open his phone with the hand that isn’t across Sips’ shoulders. He curses. “Fuck, Trott, it’s almost midnight!”

“Fuck, is it really?” Trott lurches to his feet with a groan.

“Damn,” Sips remarks in surprise. Ross helps him stand, catching him when he stumbles a little. It can’t only be nearing midnight now. It feels like it’s been longer than it really has.

"Where we heading? Back to your place?" Sips asks with a wry smirk.

"There's something we have to settle first," Trott answers.

The three of them guide a stumbling Sips out onto the balcony again.

It should bother him, that he’s bit tipsy. The alcohol should have worked it’s way through his system by now, especially with the food. How many drinks has he had? He doesn’t feel drunk...he just feels exhilarated. The party, the food, the company...it’s all been great.

How long has he been here, exactly? Sips tries to count the hours, but he can’t remember. What time did he get here? Right now all he can picture is Smith putting the crown on his head.

Trott’s talking quietly with Smith and Ross, pointing and gesturing for them to stand in certain places on the little balcony. Sips watches in inebriated confusion. Were they going to take a picture?

He looks out at the crowd, and at the disco ball suspended on a pole above the bar. The crowd cheers louder than before as the ball starts to lower.

Trott guides him forward, completing the circle of the four of them.

“Are you left or right handed, Sips?” he asks.

“Right.”

Trott takes the empty margarita glass from his hand and gives it to Smith.

The crowd starts the countdown. Sips checks his watch, and the second hand ticks closer to midnight.

Trott grabs Sips’ left wrist and pulls his hand out in the middle of their loose circle. Smith holds Sips’ used glass underneath his hand.

There’s an undercurrent of unease and danger that envelops Sips’ mind, as Trott takes out a knife.

The blade springs forth, shining neon pink and metallic in the glimmering lights.

The music seems to still.

Sips opens his mouth to say something, but instead his words fall short.

Trott cuts into his palm, from the base of his pointer finger and diagonally across. The three before him chant under the sound of the crowd. Sips' blood roars through his veins. He would laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the cut in his hand takes up his attention. The pain hardly registers.

Whatever this is, it must be magic.

He asked Xephos a long time ago, what it was like to cast, and the mage described a light sensation of heat, and bright, vivid bursts of emotion in your chest.

That's not what this is. It could or couldn't be magic for all Sips knew about it, but whatever it is, it's not what Xeph once described. It's something else entirely.

A fizzing, bubbling sensation is running from the back of his neck, down his spine, along the backs of his legs, to his feet. It’s coursing through him. Settling in his bones, his nerves, his bloodstream. It’s like the air’s been carbonated.

Sips watches his blood collect in the glass distantly, as if this isn't happening to him at all. The world is coated in a shady veneer- the sense that he’s made a giant mistake by being here in the first place.

The three are fae. He sees it now, flickering in the neon lights and the magic that twines around them. Their shadows show their true forms in brief seconds- hulking creatures with sharp-edges. Horns, tusks, and teeth.

That’s what made this night so strange. He’s not just their king in only a name. There’s more to this whole thing than he previously assumed.

As the words come to a halt, Smith draws the glass away. Trott wipes his knife clean on his jeans, and stashes it back in his pocket. The fizzy feeling in Sips’ body dissipates.

Smith raises the glass to his lips and drinks, seductively meeting Sips’ eyes over the rim. He takes a few gulps and passes the glass to Ross.

Ross takes his turn with his eyes closed. His tongue slowly darts out to catch a drop of blood on his lower lip. He hands the glass off to Trott.

Trott knocks back the remainder in one long swallow. He drops the bloodstained glass to the floor and crushes it with his heavy-soled shoe. His free hand is still holding Sips’ arm. He lets go to wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and the silver comes away streaked with red.

Sips cradles his hand closer to himself. He stares down at the lines in his palm.

The cut has sealed, leaving behind a thin scar. He can feel the magic within it only distantly- it’s fading fast as if it’s afraid that he’s noticed.

He blinks. His hand is still covered in his own blood. The blood-loss has made him a bit dizzy, but this night has felt much like a headspin anyway.

Strangely enough...he feels more sober now than he did a few minutes ago.

“Alright?” Trott nudges him with an elbow.

Sips looks up.

Ross is watching the ball drop behind them, while Smith pours lighter fluid onto the ground. He’s entirely too gleeful. Sips can see a few stray drops of his blood splattered among the shards of broken glass. He slowly lifts his head again.

Trott is looking at Sips expectantly.

“I’m alright...” Sips answers him, flexing his fingers. “What kind of crazy magic mumbo jumbo was that for?”

Trott laughs darkly. “I wouldn’t worry about it too hard,” he says, placing his hand on Sips’ shoulder. He moves in close, and kisses him.

Sips’ eyes flutter shut. Trott kisses him deeply, and Sips can taste his own blood on Trott’s tongue. The danger of the three them in that brief moment is startlingly clear. It strikes something inside him, and makes his heart kick hard at his chest.

Trott pulls away, and Sips takes in a much needed breath.

The crowd cheers in front of him as the clock strikes midnight.

Smith skirts the small flames at their feet to stand at Sips’ other side. Sips’ hand is still held out in front of him like it’s stuck, and Smith grabs onto his wrist to pull it close. He licks the blood off of Sips’ palm in one broad, sexualized stroke. The tip of his tongue traces the scarline.

It doesn’t hurt, and for some reason that shocks Sips more than the act itself.

Smith takes Sips’ fingers into his mouth and sucks wetly. When he pulls them free, he lets Sips’ fingertips glance off his bearded chin. He steps into Sips’ personal space and kisses him greedily.

Smith tastes like iron, salt, and dirt.

“Happy New Year,” Smith whispers when the kiss breaks. There’s confetti in his hair. It’s falling from the ceiling like glittery, technicolored snow. Sips can hear fireworks outside the building, and there are people screaming and singing Auld Lang Syne.

“Yeah...” he murmurs back, lowering his left hand to his side. “Same to you.”

Sips touches the paper crown on his head. He glances at Ross as Smith moves back.

Ross has turned from the crowd to watch them. He raises an eyebrow at Sips.

“Well...third time’s the charm, eh?” Sips chuckles quietly, still sort of thrown by all of this and not willing to admit it.

Ross shyly steps over the fresh ashes on the floor, and ducks his head to kiss him. He’s much more gentle than the other two had been. They kiss a little longer, too, a bit more slowly. Underneath the taste of his own blood, Sips thinks Ross tastes a little bit like chalk.

When Ross steps away, Sips looks at Trott and Smith. Their heads are bent towards each other. They’re looking at him and talking in hushed whispers.

“Where to?” Sips asks tentatively.

Smith grins. He slides up to Sips and curves a hand around his waist. “Up for going back to ours? The best of the night is yet to come.” His fingers hook into Sips’ belt loop.

“Sure...” Sips answers. _In for a penny..._

He’s led out of the gymnasium, and into the cold night of the new year. Up above them, fireworks light up the night in bursts of color.

“Fuck, it’s freezing,” Sips curses. The wind blows flecks of snow into his hair, and rustles the paper crown on his head. He looks over his shoulder to ask about his hat again, and his eyes go wide.

“ _Holy shit._ ” He stumbles back a step. “What the fuck-”

Ross has a tail. It’s longer than one of his arms, made of deep blue glass the same color as his eyes, and comes to a flat, barbed tip in the shape of an arrow.

Ross smirks at the look on Sips’ face, and playfully swipes at his feet.

Sips yelps and leaps backwards. He lets out a painful wince as his back hits the brick outer walls of the old gym.

The trio laugh. Their amusement echoes down the side street.

 _That’s what I kept seeing out of the corner of my eye,_ Sips thinks.

“Shit...” he mutters aloud. “How the fuck did I not notice that before?”

“Glamour.” Ross answers with a smile. “Humans don’t normally notice the horns, either.” He taps the side of his head, and Sips sees the small, stubby horns hidden in his hair.

“So that’s what my fingers brushed earlier...” Sips peels himself off of the wall.

Ross smiles bashfully down at him. He lets Sips reach up and run his fingers through Ross’ hair.

“Do they...”

“They’re not sharp, and it doesn’t hurt.” Ross slides his tail around Sips’ thigh and gives him a gentle tug forwards until they’re chest to chest. His eyes gleam in amusement at Sips’ nervous expression.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you with it,” he says reassuringly. The flat of his tail strokes down the back of Sips’ leg.

Sips swallows thickly. He lowers his hand from Ross’ hair.

"You know Sips, that’s not the only thing that's made of pretty blue glass." Smith murmurs, hooking his arms around Sips' and Ross' necks.

Sips raises an eyebrow at him.

Smith leers. “Ross has got a dick like a glass dildo, mate.”

“No _fucking_ way.” Sips shakes his head while Smith laughs, and looks back to Ross. “What the fuck kind of fae has a dick made of glass?!”

Ross laughs and licks his lips. “Want to find out?”

“Ross, you’re not dropping your pants here,” Trott warns. “If you want to fuck him, let's go home already.”

Sips turns towards Trott, who’s standing a few feet from them with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Don’t worry Trotty, we won’t leave you out,” Smith replies through gritted teeth. “Maybe if you ask nicely I’ll suck your tiny dick!”

“If I fuck Ross, you can fuck Smith,” Sips offers, and that gets a laugh out of Trott.

“Yeah, alright,” Trott agrees with a grin.

“Hey, don’t I get a say, you twat?” Smith protests. “It’s _my_ ass!”

“Oh _shut up_ , Smith. It’s not like you don’t take it in the ass, anyway.”

Smith growls profanities under his breath while Ross and Sips laugh.

They walk along the riverside for a block or two, until they come to a dark green muscle car parked beneath a street light.

Sips whistles low. "That's pretty."

"Who, me?" Smith bats his eyelashes and grins. He struts to the car and unlocks the doors.

Trott rolls his eyes. "It’s a ’68 Dodge Charger."

"She's a beauty." It must have been expensive to restore- it looked brand new. Sips tells Smith as much.

“Had her a long time,” Smith says, smiling wide while Ross and Trott slide in the backseat. “Been in this good of a condition since I stole her.”

It was impossible the car had been in this good of a condition since ‘68. Sips snorts at the second comment. _Stole_.

Well.

It didn’t seem _un_ -likely...

Smith holds open the front passenger door for Sips, and he gets in. The car has leather seats, and an updated stereo. Only a few leds on the console glow with green light.

Sips looks over at the driver’s side as Smith takes his seat. He sticks the keys in the ignition and turns, starting the car up with a loud, throaty growl.

Smith grins at Sips. There’s darkness shining in his eyes, but something else, too. He leans over the gearbox to kiss Sips slowly. The brush of tongue across his lower lip is the promise of something more.

Sips' breath hitches as Smith pulls away.

Smith chuckles.

Trott kicks the back of Smith's seat. "We going or what?"

Smith narrows his eyes in Trott’s direction. "Don't push me, Trott, I'm going to fuckin' take my time if it pleases me!"

“I’d like to actually sleep at some point tonight!”

“You just wanna fuck him now, don’t you? You randy fecker!”

“Fuck off, Smith. If you don’t _drive_ already, I’m going to please him myself!”

“Yeah, and I’ll just please _my_ self all over your _fucking_ -”

"You know guys," Sips cuts Smith short, laying his hand on the gearshift between them. "It would please _me._..if we'd get back to yours.”

Smith's attention snaps back to Sips in an instant. There’s a flash of something in his eyes, contesting the placement of Sips’ hand.

“There's not enough room in this car for all three of you to fuck me," Sips says with a look.

Smith's lips part into a grin. "Of course. Whatever the king wishes, though I beg to disagree about the car." He winks and revs the engine, nudging Sips’ hand off the gearshift and pulling out into the streets.

Sips shrugs and leans back in the cold leather seat. “You'll have to prove it to me another time. I'd rather not fuck up my back in my first orgy."

“ _First orgy._ ” Ross snorts.

“Don’t judge me, Ross, I’m not forty yet.”

"You'd be surprised the amount of sex to be had in this car," Smith brags.

"Is that so?” Sips drawls. “You'll just have to give me a ride later, Smiffy."

Smith laughs, a dark chuckle rumbling from his throat, and tumbling over his lips. "Maybe I will, Sips. Maybe I will. It’ll be a ride you’ll never forget..."

Street lamps flash light into the interior of the car as Smith drives. Sips watches the steady bursts of fireworks out the window. He listens to Smith sing along with the radio, Trott hum, Ross beatbox, and the car engine rumble underneath them. The heater blasts hot air onto his ankles.

He’s comfortable, a little excited, and a tad wary. His memories of the night are still floating in his mind. Of the pulse of magic he felt, and the sight of the three fae drinking his blood. Most of the buzz from the alcohol has worn off. Sips feels a little shell-shocked.

Right now, he wants to believe to disbelieve.

Maybe this was all a dream, and he’d wake up tomorrow morning like he normally did. In his cold mansion with stale coffee and a tv of five hundred channels he never watched.

But this didn’t feel like a dream. Or a nightmare, really. It didn’t feel like anything Sips had ever done or experienced before. It felt...

He didn’t know.

 _Just forget it,_ Sips tells himself, but his eyes catch the movement of Ross’ tail in the backseat from the reflection in the sideview mirror. _What_ are _they, anyway? With horns and a tail...does that make Ross a demon? But what demon has a face like that? And the other two...who the fuck knows about them._

Sips knew the bare minimum about fae- they’re dangerous and untrustworthy. They trick people to their deaths. Blah, blah, blah. Well, he wasn't dead yet.

And if that's how he was going to end up...

In a fourway with three hot pieces of ass wasn’t a bad way to go. Sips glances over at Smith’s languid form in the driver’s seat. The intermittent lights make his shadow darker.

Sips didn’t grow up with magic, unlike Xephos did. He couldn’t even detect it- this was all guesswork. Sips could count on one hand the people that he knew were fae. For all that he knew, his company was run solely by mortal means. It was partly his upbringing, and partly his nonchalance for his solitary life, that accounted for his feelings about the magical world.

There were plenty of people- mortals- in the city who didn’t think fae were real. It was easy to go along with that fake ignorance when Sips never felt as if he was in any danger. It’s not like Turps had tried to murder him before.

But Turps was a different case than these three.

Sips looks away from Smith with a melancholy feeling. He doesn’t bother paying attention to where they’re going. Does it matter?

Minutes later, they arrive at the apartment. The state of the interior says they’re normal college students- the living room is trashed. Take out cartons, plastic bags, and boxes are stacked up high.

Smith parades Sips down the hallway to the bedroom. He tugs at the hem of Sips’ shirt, and pulls it up over his head. Sips’ necklace tinkles metallically against his chest. For half a second, Sips is afraid he'll snap the chain. But he doesn’t. Smith’s fingers encase the ring dangling from it, pulls it over Sips’ head, too, and tosses it with the rest of his clothes that join the ones already on the floor.

Trott throws the comforters off the bed with a flourish. He pushes the sheets down and Smith and Sips fall to the bed once they’re completely undressed.

The weight of Smith’s naked body pins Sips to the mattress. His hands are cold from being outside, and the chill draws goosebumps across Sips’ skin. Smith kisses like he wants to devour him. Sips threads his fingers through Smith’s hair.

Trott sits at the foot of the bed and clears his throat. Sips detaches his mouth from Smith’s, and all eyes look towards Trott.

Smith grins. He moves away from Sips to kiss Trott bruisingly.

Sips watches them move together. Smith and Trott look well-practiced and immeasurably comfortable. They’re not gentle with each other, but there’s care in every touch.

Smith plucks the buttons open on Trott’s shirt. The silver fabric slides off of Trott’s shoulders to pool on the sheets, and quickly falls off the edge of the bed. Smith kisses Trott’s neck, and Trott fists his fingers in Smith’s hair. His eyes are half-lidded in bliss. Smith’s hands slide around Trott’s hips and pull him onto his lap.

The bed frame creaks loudly as Ross sits down next to Sips. Ross’ tail curls around Smith’s ankle, and Sips turns his head.

Ross has flung all his clothes off already, unlike Trott, who is still half-dressed. Sips smiles at Ross’ enthusiasm, but as his gaze treks downward, his eyes widen.

“Holy _fuck_...” Sips exclaims at the blue glass dick between Ross’ legs.

Smith breaks from kissing Trott and laughs. “Yes, he is,” he agrees. Trott slaps his arm.

“ _Shit..._ you weren’t kidding,” Sips murmurs. He looks from Ross to Smith and Trott.

The other two have gone back to kissing, moaning into each other’s mouths. Trott grinds in Smith’s lap. One of Smith’s hands is on the small of his back, and the other is down the front of Trott’s jeans.

Ross likes watching them too.

Sips meets Ross’ eyes and extends a cautious hand towards him. “Can I…?”

Ross licks his lips. “Please.”

Sips slowly wraps his fingers around Ross’ dick, feeling the subtle curve. The blue glass is smooth and cool to the touch. He experimentally rubs his thumb along the ridges on the underside to see how Ross reacts.

Ross sighs prettily and closes eyes in bliss. A small shiver shakes his shoulders.

Sips smirks. Despite being made of blue glass, Ross’ dick looks and seems to act like any other would. Other than being blue, semi-transparent, and impossibly hard.

Sips tightens his grip, shifting the pressure of his strokes as he moves his hand along the shaft, and grins at Ross’ responding moan. Other than the intermittent shivers, Ross is as still as a statue. His skin is so pale...almost like he’s carved out of marble or some shit.

Sips snorts quietly to himself. He leans in and gives Ross’ dick an experimental lick.

“Fuck,” Ross curses.

Trott and Smith break from their kissing and watch Ross and Sips instead. Sips mouths along the underside of Ross’ dick, licking up the smooth surface.

Ross moans.

Trott whispers something in Smith's ear. Smith laughs and crawls back up to Sips.

“Sips. Want me to suck you off?” Smith asks. He turns Sips’ head away from Ross and kisses him.

Sips lets go of Ross’ dick. Ross makes a soft noise of protest.

“That depends, Smiffy,” Sips drawls with an amused smile. “Which one of you gives the best blow jobs?”

Smith winks. “That would be me. Only the finest for the king, after all.”

Sips laughs and settles back in the sheets again. “I like the sound of that. Get to it.”

“Of course, my liege.” Smith bats his eyelashes and kisses Sips again, traversing a path down his neck and chest.

Sips brushes Smith’s hair out of his face.

Smith nips at his fingertips in response, and kisses the inside of his wrist.

Sips drags his thumb across Smith’s lips. He watches as the younger man’s teeth bite gently into the skin.

Smith’s green eyes shimmer with arousal, a dark green-blue that reminds Sips of the lakes he vacationed at in the summers. It’s a memory he hastily shoves away- a life in the past he doesn’t want to ruin this night with.

Smith continues down Sips’ body and gets to his knees. He wraps one hand around the base of Sips’ dick and slowly takes it into his mouth.

Sips hums and watches Smith bob his head. “Shit, that’s good.”

Over Smith’s shoulder, Trott and Ross are kissing. The way Ross kisses is so different than the other two. Every movement is careful, calculated, and meaningful.

Smith sucks a little harder around Sips, vying for his attention again. He looks up at Sips through his eyelashes.

“Fantastic...” Sips sighs. “You know, Smiffy, you look pretty damn good with your mouth wrapped around my dick.” He flexes his hand in Smith’s hair, and feels him moan around him.

Trott parts from kissing Ross and moves up the bed, caressing Smith's back as he does. He pulls Sips into a kiss with a hand on the back of his neck.

Sips feels the bed shift as Ross scoots closer. Ross kisses along his’ shoulders, and Sips sighs at the feeling. It’s good to have their attention on him; it’s good to be king.

Smith whines jealously.

Trott chuckles against Sips’ mouth and pulls away. He strokes a hand down Smith’s back, leaving long red marks with his nails.

Smith groans around Sips.

Ross kisses Sips’ jaw, and Sips lets out a hum.

“You want to ride him?” Trott asks. He nods at Ross.

“Hell yeah I do.”

“Ease up, Smith.”

Smith pulls his mouth off and grins lewdly. Trott moves back behind Smith and bites kisses into his upper back.

Ross grabs the lube off the side table. Sips shuffles up onto his knees and Ross settles behind him. Ross is as gentle with his fingers as he is when he kisses. He spends his time kissing Sips’ neck as he curls his fingers inside him. They watch Trott and Smith kiss and touch each other.

“Fuck, Ross, you keep that up and I’m not gonna be up much longer.” Sips laughs a little breathlessly.

Ross smiles against Sips’ neck. He withdraws his fingers, and they all shuffle for position again. The bed is beyond big enough. Sips wonders if these fae sleep, or if all they do is fuck in it. The bed’s comfy as shit either way.

Sips sucks in a breath and slowly sinks down onto Ross. His eyes flutter shut at the feeling of the glass, the ridges, the hardness. He’s gotten fucked before, sure, but _damn_.

He doesn’t have much breath to curse when Ross rolls his hips once. Sips chokes out a groan and his chin drops to his chest, eyes half-lidded.

“Easy on him, Ross,” Trott chides. “Give him a minute. He’s not Smith.” He reaches over and strokes Sips’ cheek as he adjusts.

“Fuck you, Trott,” Smith snaps back.

“Not tonight, sunshine. Tonight, I’ll be fucking you.” He smacks Smith’s thigh with a playful smirk.

Smith rolls his eyes and hides a smile.

Sips lifts his head. “Holy _fuck_ ,” he drawls.

“Good?” Trott asks with a chuckle. He guides Smith’s head down again to continue blowing Sips.

“Fuck. Yeah.” Sips laughs. He shifts a little and hums. “Come on, then Ross. Show me what you got.”

Ross smirks.

 

If Sips wasn’t currently getting his brains fucked out, he’d probably guess the bed is bolted to the floor. There’s no way is isn’t, with the amount it’s shaking with every roll of Ross’ hips.

“Fuck, just like that. _Shit_. _Fuck_ ,” Sips curses to the ceiling. Ross has one hand on Sips’ stomach and the other on his hip. Smith’s mouth bobs around his dick.

Trott kneels behind Smith, smirking. His jeans and boxer brief are at his knees. He brushes his fingers over his arousal like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Sips’ toes are curling in the sheets.

“Fuck, shit-”  
It doesn’t take long before he’s coming down Smith’s throat, shuddering in Ross’ loose grasp.

Ross groans low in his ear and stills, breath heaving against Sips’ shoulder. He gently lifts him up, and then Sips settles back between his legs.

Smith pulls off, licks his lips, and smiles at Sips’ flushed, dazed expression.

Sips slumps backwards, and Ross wraps his arms around his waist. His skin is cool to the touch.

“Fuckin’...damn.” Sips sighs heavily, spent. He’s still a bit speechless. He tilts his head back against Ross’ chest with a thunk. “ _Fuck_ , that was great...”

“Enjoyed yourself, did you?” Smith asks.

Trott smiles over his shoulder.

“Mmhmm...” Sips tucks a lock of hair back behind Smith’s ear. “You look a little hungry yet, Smiffy.”

Smith’s laugh slips into a moan as Trott grinds up against him.

“I’ve got that covered,” Trott says a little breathlessly, flicking his hair out of his eyes. “Just lay back and enjoy the show.”

Sips smirks. He couldn’t be arsed to move anyway. “Don’t mind if I do.”

“Toss me the lube, Ross.” Trott grins.

Ross obliges.

Trott's face is hidden from view as he leans over Smith, teeth worrying a mark under the man's bearded jaw. He slicks his fingers and briefly teases over Smith's arousal, before trailing his fingers around Smith's hip and behind him.

"Fuck, Trott," Smith curses. His head is bowed forward, eyes closed, hair in his face again.

Trott pecks a kiss to Smith's bare shoulder and smirks up at Sips. He presses his fingers into Smith one at a time.

"Chin up, sunshine," he murmurs to Smith.

Smith lifts his head and licks his lips. He waggles his eyebrows at Sips, but the grin falls off his face when Trott curls his fingers a little harder. Trott wrenches a moan from Smith, and Smith shudders.

" _Fuck_." Smith tightens his grip on the sheets beneath him, and starts to move.

Sips watches Smith thrust back on Trott's fingers. Ross’ lips brush his neck, sucking a mark beneath his ear. Sips tilts his head just the slightest to allow Ross more working room.

Trott stares back at Sips while he fucks Smith. Or maybe he’s staring at Ross behind him, Sips can’t tell. Either way, it’s fucking hot as shit. Smith moans loudly and often, and Trott grips his hips tighter and fucks him hard into their own completion.

“Bravissimo,” Sips chuckles breathlessly. “Quite the performance you gave there, Smiffy.”

Smith moans weakly into his hip.

Trott snorts.

Ross’ laugh rumbles against his cheek.

Sips reaches up and adjusts the paper crown still on his head. It’s a little crumpled, but it survived the orgy. Somehow. As he lowers his hand, his eyes catch the scar on his palm. Sips swallows thickly and shakes it out of his mind.

Ross’ arms are still around him, holding him close. The barbed point of his tail rests next to Sips’ calf.

They watch the quiet murmurs between Trott and Smith. Trott’s lips are at Smith’s ear, whispering something Sips can’t make out. Smith hums wordlessly in response.

Sips strokes his fingers through Smith’s hair while Trott gets up to get something to clean them all up with. One of Ross’ hands moves from his stomach and brushes the back of Smith’s hand where it’s loosely curled in the sheets. Ross plays with Smith’s fingers.

Sips smiles at the affection, a twinge of something he doesn’t want to place being pulled inside him.

Smith nuzzles Sips’ hip and looks up at them. Or Ross behind him. Sips still isn’t sure which, but the smile on Smith’s face is blissful.

Until Trott comes back with a towel and throws it at him. Sips, Trott and Ross laugh and Smith grumbles to himself.

Once they’ve all cleaned up, Sips lays back in the bed. They pull up the sheets, and the three fae tangle around him comfortably. Smith’s head on his chest, Trott on one side, and Ross on the other with his head tucked under Sips’ chin.

Sips sighs blissfully and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

When Sips wakes, he basks in the heady feeling of waking up fully rested, and of not having to move from a warm bed any time soon. The ache in his forehead isn’t too bad of a hangover. He can sleep it off.

Which...is a strange thing for him.

The other abnormality is three warm bodies around him.

Last night must have been a crazy one. It almost feels like a dream...

But when Sips raises a hand to rub his eyes, he sees the scar on his palm.

Not a dream then. Not with the scar, or with the terrible after-taste in his mouth from his drunken night. Especially not with three men in a bed that doesn’t belong to him.

A really comfortable bed. And really attractive men.

Well.

Not quite men, per say.

Sips frowns down at Ross’ sleeping head, feeling his glass tail coil around his ankle. His matching horns stick out past his hairline. Sips tries to keep his breathing even as to not jostle or wake the three, taking deep breaths to calm his heart rate.

If they wanted him dead, he would be. But it's strange, that even these fae look innocent in their sleep.

Sort of.

Sips swallows thickly, and watches them for a few more minutes. The crown is on his head yet, crushed half-way between his head and the pillow.

He isn’t sure what to think of all this. He feels homely here, in this bed, with them. It could just be magic. He’s not the person to notice such a thing, normally, but there’s something different. Different running with the scar on his hand and his memories of last night. The three fae are still fast asleep, content at Sips’ neck, chest and side.

Sips sighs and closes his eyes with a small smile. No need to ruin something so nice at the moment, not when the bed was so damn comfortable...

 

"It has now occurred to me that I've fucked a horse," Sips says at breakfast.

"Piss off, old man," Smith scoffs, chewing a large bite of his omelet. “I’m a kelpie, not a Kinsky.”

“Kinsky? More like _Kinky_ , mate, you’re kinky as fuck,” Trott adds in.

Sips and Ross laugh.

Smith takes another bite and flips Trott off. “F-u’-ff.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Smith swallows. “Fuck _you_ , you fuckin’ sea twat.”

“Horse-faced bastard.”

“Arse.”

“Smelly river fuck.”

Smith chews his food grumpily.

Trott laughs.

Sips smirks at their exchange over the rim of his coffee mug, and takes a drink. Black coffee, with a splash of cream and a hint of sugar. He'd never tasted a cup so perfect- not for free.

Ross is at the stove, cooking Trott and himself omelets. Sips has already finished his, and Smith is getting there.

What a bizarre thing, to watch a gargoyle cook in naked glory. Sips isn’t complaining, though. He takes a long drink of his coffee, watching Ross’ tail swish from side to side.

Trott's stirring his tea, watching Sips with a wry smile.

Sips smacks his lips together and sighs. He stretches languidly in his seat, feeling the soreness of last night's frivolous schemes. His hand isn’t tender to the touch like he expects. The bruises on his hips are pretty sore though. But worth it.

Sips scratches his stomach and pushes his chair back from the table. He stands up to go relieve himself. He’s wearing his boxers and a robe he found on the back of the bathroom door. The robe is very plush, warm and peach colored. There’s a logo of a hotel chain he doesn’t recognize on the back. Trott had raised an eyebrow at him when he put it on.

“The king shouldn’t be cold before he has his morning coffee, Trott,” he’d said, raising an eyebrow back in contest.

Trott had just shaken his head at him and smiled wryly.

When Sips is done, he exits the bathroom and looks around at the mess they made of the sheets on the bed. He wouldn’t mind going back to that comfort, but he has a cup of coffee to finish. Not that he has anywhere to be today, besides.

Before Sips rejoins the fae in the kitchen, he makes a quick phone call. He presses his mobile to his ear, listening to the dial tone.

Turps picks up on the third ring. “Wha-hey! Happy New Year, you magnificent bastard!”

“Yeah, Happy New Year to you too, you filthy animal,” Sips replies with a smile.

“Where you been, man? You missed the ball drop!”

“I was caught in something else. Or, caught in someone else, you could say. Or several.” He smirks.

“Yeah? You sly dog! Wouldn’t have pegged you to be getting some New Years Action.” Turps laughs.

“I’m not that old, Turps, I’ve still got it. Apparently.” Sips sticks his phone between his shoulder and neck as he puts his jeans on and hikes them up his legs. “You know, I think I lost the coin you gave me,” he says, patting his pants pockets.

“Oh, that’s alright, the luck worked well enough,” Turps says. “Speaking of lucky...”

Sips sorts through the pile of clothes on the floor in search for his own. He’s not really paying attention to Turps talking about his karaokeing. Anything else was more interesting than that.

Something crunches under Sips’ foot. He winces and unearths his necklace out from under a burgundy shirt. The ring on the chain tinkles quietly, gold and silver shining in the afternoon light. Sips puts it back on over his head, and adjusts the phone on his ear.

“Huh.” He looks around in confusion for his socks, and spots one hanging off the lampshade. “Well, anyway, Turps- I want you to call in to work for me and say I’m sick Monday.”

Turps whistles. “Gonna be fucking them for the third day straight?”

“No. Well, I dunno. Maybe. I could use a day off work, anyway. It’s been a hell of a weekend.” Sips stares at the scar in his palm, and wiggles his fingers.

“Alright, Mr. Workaholic. You’ve got yourself a deal!” Turps chirps.

“Yeah, yeah. See you Tuesday,” Sips says goodbye and hangs up. He finishes getting dressed, and makes a mental note to pester Smiffy about his hat. He wants that back, dammit.

Sips smiles to himself. He adjusts the paper crown on his head and goes back to the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.”  
> ― William Shakespeare, The Tempest
> 
> “Man’s life does not fill  
> A hundred years,  
> But always it is full of  
> A thousand year’s cares.  
> Short the midday,  
> Bitter long the nights!  
> Why then do you not grasp the  
> Lamp, seeking out for yourself  
> The short-lived joys, why not  
> today?  
> Why will you wait  
> Year after year?”  
> -Chinese philosophy
> 
> A while back, there was a genie!Turps post on the Urban Magic Aesthetic blog:  
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/119440825169/disney-and-umy-consider-genie-turps  
> I was the one who sent the anon message, because I don’t have tumblr.  
> and I was so happy to see someone took my little idea and ran with it. It absolutely made my day back then. So, thank you so much ^^. The creativity in this fandom never fails to make me smile.
> 
> there were SO MANY links I collected for this fic  
> but I'll only share a few, because I don't want to clog the notes.
> 
> Turps' shirt:  
> http://ragstock.com/shop/parrot-print-hawaiian-shirt/
> 
> http://fleur-de-fleurs.tumblr.com/post/147877750348/%E3%82%A2%E3%83%BC%E3%83%88%E3%82%A2%E3%82%AF%E3%82%A2%E3%83%AA%E3%82%A6%E3%83%A0%E6%97%A5%E6%9C%AC%E6%A9%8B-art-aquarium-in-tokyo-2016  
> aquariums
> 
> Smith's spiky black shirt  
> http://www.bizzare.nl/images/Y-564i.jpg?osCsid=6bd9d5270dd9eeab04247207a310e3fd  
> http://www.bizzare.nl/images/Y-564d.jpg?osCsid=6bd9d5270dd9eeab04247207a310e3fd
> 
> http://sparkleobsessed.tumblr.com/post/135304737023  
> Trott's knife
> 
> http://uzicopter.tumblr.com/post/138345272229/heres-a-previous-version-of-my-last-tumblr  
> Sips crowned
> 
> http://strifesxlutions.tumblr.com/post/137711100842/cfmusings-i-know-youre-too-scared-to-kiss  
> Trott/Sips


End file.
